


come home with me (way beyond the sea)

by symphony7inAmajor



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Hair-pulling, Light Dom/sub, M/M, anyway... roope is a bottom, they're very dumb and horny, this is so stupid lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 05:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20700410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symphony7inAmajor/pseuds/symphony7inAmajor
Summary: The first thing Roope does at intermission is sit beside Miro in his stall, jostling their elbows and knees together.“Hey,” Roope says, slinging an arm around Miro’s neck, “I scored.”(why not try to score off the ice, too?)





	come home with me (way beyond the sea)

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for that awful pun in the summary. but not really.
> 
> how many gifsets of roope and his hair did i reblog about wanting to write this before writing it? too many.
> 
> what is there to say? uh. not a thing. have fun.
> 
> title from "come and go with me" by the dell vikings

The first thing Roope does at intermission is sit beside Miro in his stall, jostling their elbows and knees together. 

Miro glares at him, brow furrowed in a way that makes him look  _ very _ cute. 

Roope tells him so and Miro scowls deeper.

“Hey,” Roope says, slinging an arm around Miro’s neck, “I scored.”

“Uh huh.” Miro drops a hand onto Roope’s thigh, all casual. “I was there, remember? Primary assist?” Miro digs his thumb into a gap in Roope’s pads, hard against his skin.

Roope swallows and tries to look unaffected. He ruffles Miro’s sweaty hair.

“You had all summer at home and you couldn’t get a decent haircut?” He tugs at a strand at the back of Miro’s neck and Miro rolls his eyes. Roope tries to keep his leg from jerking as Miro squeezes his thigh tight enough that it might bruise.

“Trying to convince me to sleep with you might not work out so well if you keep making fun of me,” Miro tells him. 

“Miro,” Roope whines, dragging out the vowels.

“It’s preseason,” Miro says drily. “Try a little harder.”

They may not be speaking English, but they are in the locker room. Roope bites his lip consideringly.

“Not here,” he says finally. He smirks at Miro and drags his fingernails up the back of his neck before going back to his own stall. 

He can hear Miro sigh loudly behind him and he tries to hide his grin. No matter what Miro tells him now, he knows Miro will climb into bed with him tonight. 

For now, Roope tries to suppress any thoughts of that. There’s still a game to win, after all.

They win.

Roope has media after the game, and the locker room is empty by the time he gets back. There’s one shower running. Roope has a fairly good idea who that might be and he gets undressed, grinning to himself.

Miro is standing under one of the showerheads, arms crossed and not even making an effort to look like he’s washing himself anymore. 

“I thought I’d be standing here all night,” Miro says, and it’s all he has time to say before Roope is stepping under the water with him and kissing him. Miro laughs against his mouth, his hands wrapping around Roope’s hips and squeezing hard. 

“You thought I’d leave you hanging like that?” Roope asks, insulted, then Miro gets a hand in his hair and pulls his head back. Roope hisses at the sting.

“Wash up and get dressed,” Miro says, pushing him back. Miro slips out of the showers, tossing an amused look over his shoulder.

“You suck,” Roope calls, pouting, but he doesn’t stop himself from staring at Miro’s ass. 

He’s a simple man.

He sits beside Miro on the bus back to the hotel, focused on the feeling of Miro’s warm hand on his knee. Miro’s index finger strokes up and down the inseam of Roope’s pants, a steady motion that has Roope’s face heating up and his heart beating faster. Roope might think it isn’t deliberate if not for the amused expression he can see on Miro’s profile.

Miro likes to get him worked up.

It’s honestly embarrassing, how easy Roope is for him. Like, Miro is easy for him, too, but Roope is two years older and supposed to be _cool_ and _experienced._ Even back in Finland, when they were just kids, Miro made him feel  _ different. _ Not quite unsteady, just. Out of his depth, maybe.

They hadn’t really done anything then, aside from trading a few awkward kisses and, on one memorable occasion before Roope came to North America, they’d jerked each other off.

It hadn’t been very good, in retrospect, but Miro had kissed him after, stroked his hair and called him  _ pretty, _ and Roope had felt much better about going across the ocean.

Then Miro had been drafted to the Stars. And, well. A lot of time had passed between those first awkward fumblings and Miro’s draft. And a lot of time has passed since the draft.

They’ve had a lot of time to improve.

Roope started looking forward to getting called up not just because he could play NHL hockey, but also because it meant getting to see Miro. He’d go home with Miro after games and they’d fuck, then Roope would get sent down again and he’d call Miro more often. During playoffs, he’d gone to Miro’s place after games, too, but they were always too tired to do anything more than fall asleep curled around each other. 

It had been one of those mornings, the first morning in Dallas after the playoffs, when Miro had told him stiffly over coffee that he liked Roope a lot and wanted to keep doing what they’d been doing but maybe take each other on dates, sometimes. It had been easy for Roope grin lopsidedly, hold out a fist and say, “Boyfriends?”

Miro had rolled his eyes, but he returned the fistbump.

It’s not like Miro hadn’t known what he was getting himself into.

Now, Roope leads him off the bus and into the hotel, hooking their pinkies together on the elevator. Maybe he wishes he could convince Miro to make out with him while they ride up to the floor, but he knows Miro is much too sensible for that. Besides, the sweet smile Miro gives him when he swings their hands back and forth makes up for the lack of kissing.

Their room is nice and cool compared to the sticky heat outside. They strip down to their underwear and brush their teeth, elbows knocking together in the cramped space of the hotel bathroom. They make faces at each other in the mirror, trying to make each other laugh. Miro breaks first, coughing into the sink and struggling to breathe.

Roope gets him a glass of water and rubs his back until he calms down, both of them still gasping for breath through their laughter.

“I hate you,” Miro says. “You could have killed me. With your face.”

“Aww, baby,” Roope says, kissing Miro’s cheeks. “What are you going to do about it, huh?” 

Miro flattens a hand in the centre of Roope’s chest and shoves him back through the door, then steps out after him.

Roope laughs delightedly and shimmies out of his underwear, then falls onto the bed, sprawling as attractively as he can. Miro snorts at his display. The effect of Roope’s answering pout is spoiled by the grin he can’t suppress.

Miro strips out of his briefs efficiently before joining Roope in bed. He drags a hand up Roope’s inner thigh, teasing, then props himself up so he can lean down and kiss Roope.

Sighing in relief, Roope arches his back to press against Miro, curling his hands loosely around Miro’s shoulders. He bites at Miro’s lower lip, earning a pinch to his inner thigh that makes him gasp. He tries it again. This time, Miro fists a hand in his hair and holds his head in place so he can look down at him. 

“Don’t be so bratty,” Miro tells him.

“Don’t be so bossy,” Roope snarks back.

Miro bites him on the collarbone,  _ hard, _ and Roope jerks. He can’t really move his head with the grip Miro has on his hair, so he just looks up at Miro with a mournful expression.

“Behave,” Miro says crisply. Something in his voice makes Roope twitch. Miro sits back on his knees. Roope whines at him, looking at Miro through his eyelashes. Miro ignores his woeful face and takes Roope’s hands, then pins them down above Roope’s head. He cocks his head at Roope. “Bet you can’t keep these here while I suck your dick,” he says. Roope’s hands jerk in his grasp and he laughs. “Thought so.”

“Shut up,” Roope grinds out. “I can do it.” Normally he wouldn’t—normally he likes to touch Miro as much as he can, and Miro knows it. Miro  _ also _ knows how to play off the competitive nature of the side of Roope that is a hockey player. He fists his hands in the sheets.

“So far, so good,” Miro says. He kisses Roope one last time, hard and fast, then slides down between Roope’s legs and looks critically at his dick.

“You’ve seen it before,” Roope says, “so why do you have to  _ look _ like that?”

“Mapping out a game plan,” Miro says flatly, and Roope’s laugh turns into a gasp when Miro takes his dick into his mouth.

He digs his fingers against the mattress, trying to keep his hands in place. Miro presses his hips down, holding him easily. He spends a while sucking a hickey into Roope’s inner thigh, the same place he was pressing at earlier. A place Miro knows will get chafed by his gear.

“You really did get stronger over the summer,” Roope says, his voice strained and breathy. 

Miro pulls off, staring up at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Did you think I was making that up?”

“Well,” Roope says, “how should I know what—” His voice breaks off with a high pitched sound as Miro licks up his dick, rubbing his thumbs over the crease of Roope’s inner thighs. “Miro,” he manages, his thighs shaking on either side of Miro’s head. 

Miro blows him until Roope feels like he’s right on the edge, then he pulls off and sits back. Roope gapes up at him, flushed and shaky and so turned on. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Miro asks bluntly. 

Roope can’t really form words right now, but he nods enthusiastically, wrapping his legs around Miro’s waist to pull him closer. Miro laughs, catching himself on Roope’s chest.

“C’mon,” Roope mumbles, not sure if he’s speaking English or Finnish anymore.

“I need to get the stuff, come on. Let me up, stupid.” Reluctantly, Roope lets Miro out of bed, closing his eyes and trying to collect himself.

He hears Miro laugh softly and he opens his eyes. Miro settles back on top of him and taps his wrists.

“You can move these now,” Miro says, laughter dancing in his eyes. 

“I wasn’t—I’m not—” Roope winces. No getting out of this one. “Whatever.” 

Miro shrugs, uncapping the lube. Roope stares at his hands as he slicks up his fingers.

“It’s cute,” Miro says, smirking at the way Roope wrinkles his nose. “See?” 

“Ugh,” Roope says, then Miro slips a finger into him and he tips his head back, taking deep breaths. 

“Hey,” Miro says softly, pressing a second finger in after a moment. Roope opens his eyes, confused by the soft tilt to Miro’s mouth, softer than a smirk. “I told you that you can move your hands.”

Roope feels like he’s burning with embarrassment and he moves, hands clutching at Miro’s sides. His fingernails dig into Miro’s ribs, making Miro grimace and twist his fingers.

“Fuck,” Roope says, choked, and he pulls Miro closer. Miro almost loses his balance, his hand landing hard on Roope’s chest and forcing the air out of him. Miro looks at him, vaguely concerned, and Roope wheezes a laugh at the look on his face. “‘M fine,” Roope says, pushing his hips back against Miro’s hand. “Don’t stop  _ now.” _

“Okay,” Miro says, bland, then he curls his fingers  _ hard _ and presses them against Roope’s prostate.

Roope will deny the squeaky noise that comes out of his mouth until the day he dies.

Miro can’t stop his grin and he ducks down to kiss Roope on the mouth, letting his teeth scrape over Roope’s lower lip before he pulls away. There’s a complaint on the tip of Roope’s tongue, and he’s about to ask why Miro’s allowed to bite him but not the other way around, but then Miro sets his teeth to Roope’s throat and all thoughts fly out of his head.

With Miro’s mouth on his neck and a third finger working into him, Roope closes his eyes. Miro’s tongue flicks over his pulse point and he shivers.

“Come on,” Roope whines, rocking back against Miro’s fingers. “Let’s get this show, uh, on the road.”

Miro looks at him, unimpressed, and slides his fingers out.

“You have to stop trying to use English like that,” Miro tells him. He wrinkles his nose, half-distracted by trying to open the lube with a slippery hand. “Especially when we’re fucking. You sound stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” Roope says nonsensically, trying to disguise the way his legs are shaking.

“You’re annoying,” Miro answers without hesitating, and Roope knows they could go on like this for a long time if they’re not careful, so he hooks a hand around the back of Miro’s neck and kisses him, long and slow.

When he lies back again, Miro looks a little bit dazed. Roope smiles, lifting his hips enough for Miro pull him closer.

Miro bends him almost in half when he ducks down to kiss him, distracting Roope enough that he relaxes, then Miro grips his hip in one hand and pushes into him.

Roope has to pull away, trying to take deep breaths as Miro’s hips press against his ass. They do this a lot, but it’s a lot to get used to. In more ways than one. Roope manages a snicker, laughing a little louder at the confused look Miro gives him.

“Sorry,” he says, “I thought of something funny.”

Miro rolls his eyes, shifting on his knees until he’s where he wants to be. Roope sucks in a breath at the feeling of Miro’s dick inside him, trying to twist his hips so Miro moves the way Roope wants him to.

Miro’s hand in his hair stops him. He blinks up at Miro, wide-eyed, while Miro tightens his fingers slowly, watching Roope’s face. He probably looks really stupid right now, teeth digging into his lower lip and a flush rising slowly on his cheeks and chest, already looking fucked-out. He pushes his head back into Miro’s hand and Miro  _ pulls. _

Roope’s bites his lip harder, but he can’t muffle the whiny noise he makes.

“Huh,” Miro says thoughtfully, and he keeps his hold tight in Roope’s hair as he pulls almost all the way out before thrusting back in. 

Roope shudders, hands grasping at Miro’s shoulders. He wants to get some leverage early, because once Miro finds his rhythm, he doesn’t stop until Roope is falling apart beneath him.

It’s great, but Roope likes to think he has some kind of control. 

Miro pulls his hair again, his movements hardly faltering as he leans in to suck another hickey into Roope’s throat. 

As Roope curls a hand around the back of Miro’s neck, trying to keep him there, he figures that all his ideas of control are nothing more than illusions. Miro presses a kiss under his ear, soft and gentle compared to the strength he’s putting into fucking Roope, and Roope decides that he doesn’t really mind giving up control like this. Miro knows what he wants, and he knows what Roope wants, too.

Eyes half-open, Roope watches the top of Miro’s head as Miro kisses his collarbone, his chest, then sees his dark eyes when he looks up to kiss Roope on the mouth again. 

Heat builds in Roope’s belly and he digs his fingers into Miro’s shoulders, leaving white crescents in his skin.

“Miro,” he says, pleading, and Miro manages to grin at him crookedly. 

Miro pulls at Roope’s hair one more time, then he releases him and reaches down to take Roope’s dick in his hand.

It doesn’t take long for Roope to arch into Miro’s hand, one of his own hands flying up to clutch at his hair. The feeling of Roope tensing as he comes has Miro following close behind him.

Miro drops his forehead to Roope’s shoulder, breathing hard. Roope gives him a minute to collect himself, since he also isn’t really in his normal state of mind.

“Okay,” Roope says eventually, voice still a little unsteady. He clears his throat. “Okay, get off.” He pokes Miro’s side.

“I just did,” Miro says, sounding far too pleased with himself, but he pulls out and rolls over to throw out the condom.

“Wow,” Roope says, staring at the ceiling. “That was awful.” In fairness, he had walked right into that one. He absently fumbles for the sheet and wipes his come off his stomach, feeling kind of bad for the cleaners. Whatever, they’ll leave a tip.

“Hmm,” Miro says. He finds Roope’s hand and tugs him gently, dragging him over the sheets. “Come on, I want to sleep in the clean bed.”

“Urgh,” Roope says. His hips twinge a little as he sits up, but he stumbles across the few feet of carpet to flop face-first into the pillow anyway.

Miro joins him, sliding an arm around his waist and kissing his temple. He touches Roope’s hair, carefully combing his fingers through the sweaty strands. Roope hums into the pillow, pleased. 

“Goodnight,” Miro whispers. 

Roope hides his soft smile in his pillow and falls asleep to the feeling of Miro’s hand in his hair. 

**Author's Note:**

> heh.
> 
> important: as horny and stupid as they may be, they're also very sweet and that is CRITICAL.
> 
> [tumblr](https://symphony7inamajor.tumblr.com)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/symphony7inAmaj)


End file.
